


Lunar Chillterlude

by nibling (twistedsisters)



Series: Lunar Chillterlude [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Recreational Drug Use, is this out of character? do i care?, just dudes bein pals, magnus only shows up for 2 seconds so he doesnt get tagged :'(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedsisters/pseuds/nibling
Summary: Running a secret moon base is, in no uncertain terms, extraordinarily fucking stressful.You decide you've earned a break.(AKA: Pure Leaf, AKA: Lucretia Smokes That Fucking Kush, AKA: Let My Wife Feel Joy, You Cowards)





	

**Author's Note:**

> If yinz want my onion, Lu never gets enough attention + love... ya'll can do whatever you want but as for me and MY house? We want Lucretia to have the world. And sometimes that means gettin' a little high with everyone's favorite cleric and laying on the ground for a while.  
> ((This starts almost immediately after they return from Refuge, right before they start their intensive month-long training session.))

God only knew where he got it (Garfield? Johann? Avi? _...Avi._ ), but Merle always just seemed to have weed on him. It would have been far more jarring to see clumsily wrapped nugs being plucked from a beard if the beard in question hadn’t been attached to quite possibly the crunchiest individual on base - possibly even planet-side as well. It isn't entirely surprising that Merle whose room you end up in, watching him carefully shred said beard nugs while dropping as few crumbles as possible onto the floor or his shorts.

All that being said, you’d always had a sneaking suspicion that Taako was the source of the combo smell of kush and Thai food that seemed to constantly hang in the doorway of their quarters like a beaded curtain. Could anyone be so blasé about the amount of violence they’d participated in without being extremely fucking stoned, even if they _were_ dating the personification of death? As it turned out, Taako sure could - shortly after their return from Refuge, you’d found him in the dojo and asked about the huge wood-paneled box he’d been pulling smoke from.

“Oh, you mean my _rig?”_ he’d asked, blowing a huge cloud of purplish, sweet smelling smoke directly into your face. He’d put some power into that exhale - he was lounging on one of the lower bleachers and you were easily three feet above his mouth. “Nah, nah, I don’t toke with this. This is just my _vape_.”

“I know what it is,” you’d said, annoyed. “You can still smoke pot out of it.”

“I - look, I know this may be, like, hard for you to believe? But I do actually, you know, _try_ sometimes? I gotta stay sharp if I’m gonna work my magic, especially since I have to carry these chucklefucks on my back.” Taako had gestured to Merle and Magnus, training a ways across the room with Avi. With a languid flick of the wrist, he’d cast Prestidigitation and sent a small shower of fireworks sputtering towards his two teammates. It did exactly nothing besides alerting them to your presence, Magnus grinning and waving and Merle shooting you finger guns. Avi, inexplicably, had saluted at you.

“Outstanding,” you’d said wryly, acknowledging the others with a nod and small return wave.

“Why’re you asking, anyway? Please tell me you’re about to start vaping. That would be _ah-_ mazing. Might actually convince Garfield to start carrying some decent juice so I don’t have to keep makin’ trips to Neverwinter.”

“I - eugh. No, Taako, I am… the opposite of interested in vaping. I’m only asking because -” and here your voice had faltered, but you’d managed to play it off like you were clearing your throat. “Because there’s always an aura of _kush_ around your quarters.”

Taako’s eyes had narrowed to a suspicious squint and your heart had stopped momentarily. “Look, are you tryin’ to get me to narc on the other Horny Boys? Cause it ain’t gonna happen.” He paused to take a pull of his vape and blew another enormous cloud in your direction and smirked up at you. “Unless, you know. I’m gonna get something for it.”

“No, Taako, I’m not trying to get you to narc on your…well, I’m not saying that.”

“That’s our group name. You’d better get used to it.”

  
“I’d sooner die.”

“Whatever. Look, you didn’t hear it from me cause I’m no snitch, but Merle’s _definitely_ who you’re looking for. He says it’s for ‘religious purposes,’ but considering he’s the worst cleric possible, I don’t think that’s fucking likely.” Taako had begun to take another hit off his vape but halfway through his eyes had widened and he’d choked it up like a cat with a hairball. You’d inched away a little.

“Oh my god, wait” he rasped once he’d finally regained control of his throat. “Lu - I mean, Director, are you - are you trying to _toke up?_ ”

_Absolutely I am, you shit. You have no idea the kind of year I’ve had since you showed up._

“Absolutely not,” is what you’d actually said, keeping your face smooth. “I was just curious, is all.”

“Jee-zus ,” Taako had guffawed. “We gotta come up with a stoner nickname for you now, you know? Holy _shit_.” He gasped and clapped his hands to his face. “Oh my god. Can I call you Creesh? That’s just about the jankiest, crunchiest name I ever heard.”

“I - _Creesh?”_ Taako had practically fallen over backwards wheezing. “Creesh is what you come up with? No. My God. No.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll workshop it.”

“No, we won’t. You can continue calling me ‘Director’ as always.”

  
“Sure.” He takes another puff of his vape and, after a moment’s consideration, offers it to you, still chuckling in disbelief. “You want a rip? Considering, like, everything I thought I knew about you is crumbling before my eyes?”

You’d hesitated, but the smoke had smelled pleasant, and you figured your lungs would need the practice, so you’d accepted it after wiping the mouthpiece off on your robes. The smoke tasted sweeter than it smelled, and it had gone down far harsher than you expected. You’d managed to choke down some of your coughs but, if you’re being honest, your lungs aren’t exactly what they used to be. You handed the rig back and, once your coughing fit was over, asked, “What flavor is that? Passionfruit?”

  
“ _Dragon_ fruit, but close. Good palate on you, ‘Sha.”

“That, somehow, is worse than Creesh.”

“Hmmm.” He’d tapped the mouthpiece of the vape against his chin. “L-Dog?”

“I’m leaving.”

Magnus, Merle and Avi had given you confused waves as you’d left and, you realized with a slight blush, they’d probably just witnessed you embarrass yourself while attempting to vape for the first time in, conservatively, three years. Taako had called, “You better not have a _hackey sack_ the next time I’m in your office!” after you, and the sound of his wheezing cackle echoing down the hallway had haunted you that night.

After the… less than optimal encounter in the dojo you’d laid low for several days, hoping Magnus and Merle would forget what they’d seen and praying that Taako had forgotten entirely what he’d surmised. Fat chance on the latter, of course - every time you had so much as passed one another walking across the base or made eye contact in the dining hall, Taako’s face had split into the widest, smuggest grin you’d ever seen and he’d taken great and obvious pleasure in miming smoking a joint, to the utter confusion of his teammates. Once, in a particularly tight hallway, you’d managed to stick your foot out and trip him a little, and hearing him shriek behind you had bolstered your spirits quite a bit.

Shortly after the tripping incident, you muster the will to finally send for Merle. Your note comes back with a big “??” scrawled across the top, with Merle’s name and “alone” circled and “ARE YOU SURE?” written below it. You turn the note over, write YES, and send it back. You wait ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. You consider sending another note, but decide against it. Already you’re an additional four or so days sober than you wanted to be and running out of time, Taako is constantly trying to blow up your spot, and now your missives are being scribbled on and ignored.  

Enough is enough. Office hours are over - you’re marching down to their quarters, demanding an audience with Merle one on one, and begging him for weed like an adult.

Well, maybe begging is a bit strong. You still have your pride. “Painfully beat around the bush” to “politely request” would probably be a better spectrum of tone.

It’s not Thai food today - this time the scent of something almost sickeningly sweet is mingling with the scent of weed just outside their door. You knock and take a moment to congratulate yourself on having the foresight to have sent Angus to pick you up some Fantasy Febreze back when you’d first decided you were going to do this. The modicum of peace this is going to bring you is absolutely not worth what would happen if anyone walked by your office and realize what you’ve been doing.

Magnus, fortunately for your ego, opens the door rather than Taako. “Madam Director! You’re here for Merle, right? Come on in!” He steps back and motions for you to walk in. You wrinkle your nose at the scent, which only grows stronger and more cloying as you step further into the room. Well, that’s alright. You don’t plan to be here for long anyway.

Magnus nervously runs a hand through his hair and down through his beard, not meeting your eyes. “I told him that if you sent two notes you probably meant business, but Taako said that you must have made a mistake and that if you really wanted Merle alone you would have come here to get him personally.” _God damn it._

You grit your teeth before you can stop yourself, but you manage to force the rest of your face to stay impassive. “Well, unfortunately, I was given no choice, was I?” Guilt flits across Magnus’s face and you feel, momentarily, quite guilty yourself - it’s not his fault the elf was so pig-headed. You shake it off and try to smile at him. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Is Merle around, or?”

  
“Oh, Merle’s here,” Taako’s drawl comes from around a corner. He walks out from the other room and leans against the wall in a purple frilled apron, looking just about as smug as physically possible. He pulls his vape from the big heart shaped pocket of his apron and takes an enormous pull, blowing the smoke out with a huge grin. “Why? Did you need him for something?”

 _If looks could kill._ Yours could, probably, if you put a little more work into training with the rest of the Bureau (oh, the spells you could learn if your alignment were just a step lower…) but for the time being you settle for attempting to glare him into contrition. He just grins back at you, completely unfazed.

Magnus, gods bless his soul, remains completely oblivious to the staring match between the two of you. “I - yeah, Taako, she sent two notes like an hour ago. You were here. I know you lose track of stuff when you cook sometimes, but- “

Taako claps his hands together. “Oh, that’s right. The notes. I remember now.” He cocks his head to the side, still grinning. “You know, _Madam Director,_ I’m just pulling some treats out of the oven. You wanna try some?”

You force a tight smile at him. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be interested a little later on.” Taako snorts with laughter as he wanders back into the kitchenette.  
Magnus looks like he’s about to say something, but you cut in. “So, Merle’s room would be… where?”

“Oh, it’s down the hall, last room on the right,” Magnus said. “But - I mean, we could just bring him out here. You don’t -” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “I mean, it’s nothing… illegal, per se? But I don’t think you’re necessarily going to like what you find in there.”

You almost - almost - start laughing. “I think I’ll like it just fine,” you say, and Magnus’s face sort of wrinkles up in confusion and then you have to turn and walk very quickly down the hallway after realizing that, yes, that sure was a weird thing to say, wasn’t it? Not particularly smooth at all. You recognize, for perhaps the first time, that you are actually, truly nervous about this. It’s odd to be nervous about something that doesn’t have millions of lives tethered to its outcome; you nearly relish it.

Merle opens the door in board shorts and a nauseating Hawaiian print shirt, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. He's holding a cup fabricated to look like a coconut shell with a small pink umbrella balanced on the lip. He opens his arms when he sees you, like he hasn't seen you in weeks and can't believe his luck. “Hey, Lu- er, Director! Hey! I got your notes!”

“And yet you didn't come to my office!” you reply, opening your arms in return.

“Uh, no, I guess I didn't! Taako said - well, it was this whole thing. Doesn't matter now! Come in, come in!” He gestures behind himself but doesn't move at all, forcing you to sort of flatten yourself against the doorframe and squeeze past him. He almost closes the door but stops, turning to you with an eyebrow raised. “What's Bureau policy regarding boys and girls in a room together? Doors open, leave room for Jesus? Is the RA gonna come check on us?”

“What? No, just - just close the door.”

“If you say so!” You feel like he's making a joke you're not fully in on - you frequently feel that way around Merle, and you have a suspicion you're not the only one - but he closes it. “Well, go on, take a seat!” He gestures vaguely around the room as if you have a great amount of options; in reality, there's two slightly deflated beanbags, a Crystal Gale body pillow, and a hammock. Of course, there's Merle’s bed, but you're not sure that any amount of weed in the world could convince you to sit on that, even if it wasn't covered in crumbs and beard hair.

You choose a beanbag, which isn't entirely uncomfortable, though you're unused to being so close to the ground. Merle drags the other beanbag directly across from you and settles in, folding his hands in his lap like a father would. Despite the way he treats Angus and his general demeanor, he has an oddly paternal way about him that makes you smile. You've been called “mom” several times yourself, and while you try to keep it professional, you can admit to yourself that being seen as the mother of the Bureau does warm your heart a little.

“So, uh, what did you want to see me for?”

You take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and attempt to dive in. “Well, Merle, there's something I wanted to ask you. I appreciated your discretion after our post-Lucas spa trip, and -”

He holds his hand up to stop you. “Director, I have to stop you right there. I know where you're going with this.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He nods sagely and leans back, stroking his beard.  “I think I do, yeah. And, you know, I'm flattered, but I - well, I have a very complicated romantic past, we don't really need to get into it here, but it's not great. Between that and the whole ‘boss-employee’ thing, I just don't think -”

You're beginning to think that maybe this was a terrible idea. You squeeze your temples and lean forward into your lap, trying to maintain your temper. “Merle, may I be frank with you?”

“Oh, I thought we were supposed to just call you ‘Director’!” He guffaws at his awful joke, waits a beat and, when he sees you're not laughing, crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, okay, go on.”

“Merle. You are a talented reclaimer, a decent employee, and I personally consider you to be one of the closest things I have to a true friend on this base.” You sigh and squeeze the bridge of your nose. “That being said, I could not have any less romantic interest in you. You - I - I mean, this would be, quite possibly, one of the _worst_ relationships possible.”

“Oh. Huh.” He taps his chin with his wooden hand, considering. “So it's just a sex thing, then?”

“Not if someone offered to drop the Animus Bell directly into my lap.”

“The what now?”

“Don't worry about it just yet. Listen, I need to ask you something. And I need you to keep your mouth shut about it.”

“And it's not related to matters of the heart?”

“Absolutely not.”

Merle shrugs and twirls a curly chunk of beard around one finger. “Okay. Shoot.”

You clasp your hands in your lap and try to steel yourself, but your voice still shakes a little. “Merle. I need you… to get me… some weed.”

For a second, Merle looks like he's been forcibly plane-shifted; his eyes go wide and his jaw slackens and his hands sort of droop and sink into the beanbag. He recovers fairly quickly and bursts into raucous laughter, complete with knee slapping. “Well, shit! Wish you’d’a said somethin’ before I went off on that, y’know, romance tangent.”

“You literally interrupted me trying to ask.”

“Well. Okay. Regardless, it's in the past.” He hops off the beanbag and walks to a chest sitting under the hammock and begins rummaging through it. “How much you lookin’ for?”

“Uh - not much, really.”

“Like, a g? An eighth? A quarter?”

“Er -”

“I don't have much in the way of strains, but there's a couple. I got one from Av- I mean, ha ha, a trusted source, outta Brandybuck, and -” He stops, because he’s turned around and has probably recognized the abject confusion and terror you’re certain is radiating off of you. Merle sighs and runs his hands through his thinning hair. “You, uh - you just want a joint?”

You nod stiffly. Unclasp and reclasp your hands, trying to hold them steady. Nervous habit. You’d nearly calloused both your hands during the battlewagon race. This, somehow, is more nerve wracking.

Merle closes the chest’s lid and sits next to it, back against the wall and facing you. He reaches into his beard and pulls out a hefty amount of weed - luckily wrapped in a small butcher paper package and not just… loose - and begins cheerfully and somewhat clumsily rolling you something.

“I, uh, take it that this is your first time?” He’s being delicate, you can tell; not forcing his casual, comfortable attitude, but trying to avoid coming off as cruel. It’s rare that Merle is this deliberately thoughtful - his many interactions with Angus spring to mind - and you’re grateful. Asking your employees for weed is embarrassing enough without them also throwing casual digs your way for your almost total lack of knowledge.

“Not quite,” you admit. “Well, er, I suppose I’ve never purchased any before. Or had to know amounts. But I have… partaken, shall we say. When I was a younger woman.” You don’t feel the need to mention that those days aren’t quite as far behind you as he thinks; he and the others will find out soon enough.

Merle nods and strokes his beard, leaving small flecks of green behind in the tangles. “Well now. Never would have thought of you as the stoner type, but I guess you do have that fondness for wine. And you’re not ‘purchasing’ anything here today, either. This one’s a freebie.” He winks and holds up the final product: it’s certainly not the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen, but considering he has one wooden hand, it’s impressive.

You reach for it. “Well, that’s kind of you. Thank you-”

He pulls it back slightly. “Oh. Did you want to - uh... do this alone?”

You pause, hand held midair, and the two of you you stare at each other for a second. You’d imagined that, yes, you’d be doing this in the privacy of your office, alone, silent, probably in the dark. You had a plan and supplies and food - you’d _prepared_. For days. Then again, what else about this had gone according to the plan? Practically nothing. And it wasn’t like Merle hadn’t seen you intoxicated before.

 _Fine, then -let’s take a page out of their book. Let’s… improvise._ “No, no. This is your… stuff. Let’s - let’s call it another company bonding session. Only maybe let’s not tell H.R. Or anyone else.”  
Merle grins and winks at you. “Total secrecy. Got it. I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

“Is that why you cast Zone of Truth every twelve seconds?”

“Well, you gotta learn secrets before you can keep ‘em!” Merle pats his pockets and looks around his feet, sighing. “Damn. Lost my light. You got any magic that can spark this up?”

You have fire spells, of course, but summoning a wall of flames in this intensely combustible room is probably not the best idea. You fish around in the pockets of your robes for a bit and come up with a half-spent book of matches you usually use to light the candles around your office when you work late. (Sure, you have light-creation cantrips and lanterns, but sometimes a girl wants  _ambiance._ )

“Perfect!” Merle crows, snatching them out of your hands. He puts the joint in his mouth and almost strikes a match with his wooden arm before reconsidering and handing the matches and joint to you. “Here. Maybe, uh - maybe you should start this one up. Just in case.”

“Safety first.” You wouldn’t call yourself a master at smoking weed, but Merle looks impressed at the ease with which you light the match and start smoking in one swift, easy motion. It’s not often you let yourself feel any smugness or pride, though you certainly have reason to (the Bureau, the relics, your intellect and, you’ve been told, your looks) but you allow yourself a great swoop of it now. Most of that comes crashing down around your ears as you accidentally inhale too hard and start coughing so hard you end up bent in half, head between your knees, with Merle patting your back.

“You alright, Lucretia? That was one hell of a hit.” He eases the joint from your fingertips and gives you another couple hard whacks on the back for good measure.  

“Don’t - call me - Lucretia -” you wheeze. It’s vindictive to wish pain on someone who’s dead, especially considering how close the two of you were, but you truly hope Lucas is burning somewhere for using your name in front of them. You’re never going to live it down.

“Okay, okay, jeez! Very touchy,” Merle says. When you look up, eyes watering, he's taking an enormous drag with his eyes closed. You take several deep breaths and try to get your shit under control as he exhales toward the ceiling. “How long’s it been since you smoked, anyway?”

You wipe the tears from your eyes and clear your throat. “It’s… been a while. Let’s leave it at that.” And it certainly had been; the last time had been several years ago, the night before your excursion to Wonderland. You’d quit once you’d started searching for the relics to keep yourself sharp, but you’d been so filled with anxiety about what you’d find in those woods that you’d buckled and smoked the reserves you’d held onto _just in case_ , blowing your smoke towards the stars at your campsite just outside the Felicity Wilds. “I did use Taako’s vape earlier this week.”

“Ooooh, that's right! When Magnus and I were in the dojo training and he was on his ass.” Merle shakes his head and offers you the joint again; you accept and take a much smaller hit. “You know he does that all the time,” he tells you as you hand it back. “Me and Magnus are the ones who train the hardest. He just does that ‘hang back’ thing on the bleachers.” He takes a hit and winks at you. “I’m not sayin’ he should get court martialed or anythin’, buuuuuut… it’d be nice if, you know. Maybe his Candlenights bonus was a little short this year.”

The logical part of you - the Director, the head of the most powerful organization in (and above) Faerun, the older, wiser woman you’ve become since the beginning of your quest for the relics - balks at the idea and tells you to scold Merle. She’s resoundingly drowned out by the part of you that’s beginning to get very nicely buzzed - the part of you that remembers what it’s like to be young, to celebrate with shots and not a glass of wine and a nap, the part that doesn’t particularly appreciate the smirks that Taako’s been sending your way recently. That part of you hasn’t seen the sun for quite some time, so you decide ( _as long as we’re making foolish decisions_ ) to let her take over for a while. “I’ll see what I can do,” she tells him, and holds her hand out for the joint.

It’s funny; you have the same pair of lungs, but she can take a much bigger hit than you can.

\--

_Why did I stop smoking weed again? Was it this job? Fuck this job._

You’re about an hour into this smoke sesh, and to say that you’re Feeling It would be an understatement. Had you forgotten tolerance was a thing? You must have. That’s the only possible explanation for why you took so, so many hits and got so, _so_ high. Not that you’re complaining. It was a little disorienting, at first, to feel so out of tune with your body in a way you haven’t in so long, but you’re used to it now and you’re beginning to remember why you liked it. Everything feels like… a cloud. But _more._

You and Merle are laying on the ground now, because shortly after finishing the joint, you started slump-sliding out of the beanbag chair, and then he started doing it to tease you, and then you’d both started laughing and that had officially and completely dislodged you. The floor isn’t that bad, considering. You think maybe you should start spending a little more time on the floor. For perspective. You imagine trying to run a meeting as normal while laying on the floor and snort with laughter.

Merle, who has been laying on his front with his head facing away from you, forces himself up onto his elbows and turns to squint at you. He looks like a dust bunny, and you tell him so. He grins and runs a hand through his beard, knocking out some of the dust and errant beanbag beans and assorted floor garbage that had been accumulating. “Yeah, I s’pose I probably do.” He rises, slow and unsteady, to his feet, and offers a hand to pull you up. “But if I’m a dust bunny, what does that make you?”

You pull yourself up - _is that a twinge in my back? Maybe floor meetings aren’t such a good idea after all_ \- and steady yourself with his hand. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window beside Merle’s bed and take stock of yourself. _Tall. Cheekbones. Gangly limbs, muscles - well. Used to be._ You watch your reflection poke herself in the belly a little. _All this desk work. That, and my age._ Your reflection cocks her head to one side and squints. “Horse,” you say. “Dust horse.”

Merle, who has also been observing your reflection, hums a little and tilts his head to one side, mimicking you. “Horse, huh? I can see that.” He chuckles and, very off-key, sings, “The ol’ grey mare, she ain’t what she used to be -” and stops himself, sheepish. “Sorry. Rude.”

You're making direct eye contact with your reflection. It's harder to tell their color in the glass but you can still see the steely gray of them glittering back at you, pupils wide, sclera a yellow-red that looks more “liver disease” than “stoner”. “No,” you say. “You're right.”

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Not like I got room to talk, huh? I'm no spring chicken myself.”

“Spring dust bunny,” you correct him, and he laughs. You look down at him and smile. “Are you starving? _I'm_ starving.”

He claps his hands together. “Absolutely. You wanna steal Taako’s leftovers?”

“Lead the way.”

He offers you his arm and you take it even though it means you have to hunch down a little.  Your back aches but you're high; you can feel everyday work anxieties clamoring, distantly, for your attention, but distant is distant. For once, Future Lucretia can deal with something. Present Lucretia wants baked goods, and fried rice, and, _gods,_ probably an entire rotisserie chicken, just to herself.

Tomorrow you have to start your favorite reclaimers - your only reclaimers - on a strict training regimen. Soon, the very second they’re ready (as ready as they can ever be), you'll have to send them to Wonderland, hoping they can succeed where you could not. You can already feel, as if radiating backwards through time, sleepless night after sleepless night spent wondering after their safety, heart in your throat, eyes stinging with anxious tears. For now, though, you and Merle have elf cooking to demolish. And that suits you just fine.

\--

You wake up in Merle’s bed and it's dark outside. Thankfully - _thank you thank you thank you_ \- you are alone, though in the darkness you can hear snoring from across the room. _That's right. He took the hammock._ You're remembering now. After eating essentially everything you could see (including some enormous macarons giving off a cloyingly sweet smell, which you assumed was what Taako had been baking when you'd first arrived), both of you had been about to collapse. You'd been in no state to walk the halls just yet, and Merle’s bed had seemed much more appealing post-joint, crumbs and all. He assured you he’d take the hammock (“And STAY in it! I’m a gentleman!”, which you'd told him was a creepy thing to say). You’d both fallen asleep almost immediately; it looked to be about one in the morning, judging by the real moon, so that had been… six hours ago? Time to go back to your own quarters, certainly. You wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and ease yourself from the bed, feeling your way to the door and slip into the hallway without waking your slumbering dealer.  

You can hear even louder, more obnoxious snores coming from a room you assume is Magnus’s, considering it’s plastered with pictures of different kinds of dogs - judging by the frayed bottom edges of each and the faded ink of some, he’s ripped them all from different calendars he’s kept over the years - but Taako’s door is open. You creep past, pressing yourself against the wall, worrying for just a moment that he'll be waiting just inside the doorway staring at you, face nearly split in two by an enormously smug grin. He isn't, but there's a good chance that the lingering image of his fantasy Babadook smile is going to haunt your post-stoned dreams tonight.

The hall opens up into the room you'd first entered, with a line of coat hooks and a table cluttered with spellbooks, magazines, pens, and scraps of paper. You and Merle had eaten here before collapsing - your dishes are still laying out, grease crusting on the plates. You wince at your own thoughtlessness and stack the plates and flatware as quietly as you can; you're about to carry them to the sink (wherever that is) when your eyes fall on the pen and paper.   _As long as we're trying not to be rude…_ you scribble a little note to Merle and make a mental note to stuff it beneath his door before you leave. You're about to pick up the dishes and hunt for the kitchenette when a light clicks on and you hear a soft _pap-pap-pap_ behind you.

“Oh. Hey, L-Dog.”

 _No, gods, no, please-_ You turn slowly, as if giving the universe a second chance to reconsider its decision, but when you look, he's still there. Taako. _Shit._ The apron is long gone; he's in a lavender terrycloth robe that drags along the floor, a pair of ratty sweatpants, and a faded tee shirt screenprinted with Fantasy Julia Child’s face across the chest. He's holding a mug in one hand and a book under the other arm, and to your surprise, he doesn't look smug or even excited to see you. Mostly he just looks exhausted.

“Taako. You’re… up.”

“Yeah, well, the whole elf thing makes sleeping a little, y’know, impossible, and meditating really isn’t my bag. Mostly I just sit out here and _wait_.”

“That sounds terrible,” you say, and you mean it. Waiting has never really sat well with you.

“Eh. I got my books, I got tea, I got cookies. Or I did before two living tornadoes tore through my kitchen earlier today and wrecked shop.” He smiles at you, eyebrows raised, but it’s missing the air of mockery that he’s been directing at you recently. Mostly he just looks amused. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  
Your mouth twitches upwards despite your best efforts to keep a straight face. “No, I wouldn’t,” you say, and lift the stack of dishes in a half shrug and smile at him.  “I actually just came down here to tidy up after them. Like the elves and the shoemaker.”

“Shouldn't that be my job then?”

Your smile falters a little as you consider. “Hm. I guess you're right.”

Taako snorts and eases himself into a chair; very suddenly the goofs seem to have gone out of him, and he’s back to looking tired and sort of sick. He puts his chin in his hand and stares into space and you’re just sort of standing there, plates in your hands, entirely unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never been great with socializing, especially when people’s emotions come into play; you’re much more comfortable in your office where you can be in control of the situation and there are clear rules of conduct. For every other situation - well. At least at parties there’s wine.

“Sink’s in the other room, to the left,” Taako says absently, waving his hand towards the other room without looking at you. “You don’t have to just stand there with greasy plates in your hands, I know you probably got stuff to do.”

You have enough memory of the layout of their quarters (both from the construction of the base and their disastrous Candlenights party) that you’re able to find the sink without bumping into too many things, though you do stub your toe pretty badly on the corner of a cabinet. From the other room, you hear Taako snort as you curse under your breath. You wash up and leave everything to dry on the rack next to the sink and when you walk back into the light, Taako’s sipping from his mug and staring, eyes out of focus, at the wall. Your note is under one of his hands; you’re not the most socially knowledgeable person but given the melancholy he seems to have fallen into, you think it would be rude to just walk over and take it from him.

You inch up beside him and clear your throat. His ears twitch but he doesn’t look at you. “Er. That note. Could you - “

“I’ll make sure Merle gets it.”

You nod even though you’re not sure he can see you. You raise your hand, lower it, raise it again; each time you hesitate. You’re exhausted and you have no idea what you’re doing. Apparently it’s showing; Taako (still not looking at you) drawls, “You gonna hit me or something? I know I’ve been an ass recently, but…”

“I - gods, no, I wouldn’t…” You raise your hand again, hesitate - and then you just decide to run with it. You pat him, firmly, on the shoulder, twice, and give him a reassuring squeeze. You’re not sure what he needs reassured about, but you hope that the gesture will provide some amount of comfort. _I’m…really, really terrible at this._ _Is there a book somewhere I could use? Maybe Angus could find one._ He doesn’t say anything but he does, after a second, reach up and pat your hand a little. You take that as a sign and pull your hand away, which is a blessing - his robe is greasy and matted and an absolute hell to touch.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, and when he turns to look at you he’s smiling a little. “I’m used to the waiting.” He stretches his arms above his head, nearly knocking you in the chin. “You, on the other hand - you have a big night of partying to sleep off. Better get to it.”

You nod and head to the door but you pause before leaving, hand on the doorframe. That younger part of you is tugging at you again, whispering that you should say something, anything, to cheer him up - _and you know what it is._ You sigh, knowing you’ll regret it in the morning, but you say it anyway, without turning to face him. “Creesh and Sha were genuinely terrible. L-Dog is, somehow, even worse. I still expect you to call me Madam Director during business hours.” You turn and he looks a little pouty until he sees the smile spreading across your face.  “That being said. If you manage to land on a nickname that isn’t absolutely awful, maybe I’ll let you use it the next time I’m around when you’re… waiting.” You shut the door on his triumphant whooping as Magnus and Merle groggily yell for him to shut the hell up.

 _Joke’s on him_ , you think as you step into the elevator and wait for the doors to close. _There’s no way to make a good nickname out of Lucretia._

\--

Less than a week into their exhaustive new training regimen, Taako stops by your office when the three of them are on their way back to their quarters. You hear him call for Magnus and Merle to go on without him and then knock on your open office door. Before you can ask what he needs, he leans in and, in a squeaky stage whisper, says, “Lulu _._ ”

“Absolutely not.”

“Luca.”

“Better, but no.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you. Lemme lay this one on ya.” He pauses for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before whispering, “ _Lucky._ ”

You stare at him. “I’m not a dog, Taako.”

He throws his hands up, exasperated. “Well, shit! What do you want me to do here? I’ve been through the list! I’ve come up with every conceivable nickname I can _bastardize_ your name into, and those were my best! You’re impossible to please, woman!”

You hum a little and return to your paperwork. “And you refuse to properly train with your teammates. It seems we’re both disappointments to each other.”

  
You don’t look up but you can actually audibly _hear_ his mouth pop open before he whips around and starts sprinting down the hallway after the other two reclaimers. “Merle, you little _rat!_ Do you know what we used to do to narcs on the _street_? I will _end_ your crunchy little ass!”

You smirk and call for Davenport to please close your office door. As entertaining as drop-ins can be, you think you’d like some time alone. You’re not sure how much more time you can give the boys before you have to send them to Wonderland; hopefully that little bit of teasing will be enough to convince Taako to start seriously focusing on his training. You turn in your chair to face the portrait of yourself, which ripples to show your younger self gazing back down at you. “That should be the end of that nonsense,” you tell her, resting your chin on your hand.

  
For the barest hint of a second, it seems like she’s smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> [Smoke Break by Chance the Rapper playing in the background]  
> I thought of this as a funny "haha, what if" concept and then realized that I had the godlike power to make it happen and, frankly? I think it's what Griffin would want me to do.  
> Big ups to Rob for reading+editing+supporting this throughout its multiple stages of being (and also coming up with the title and what kind of animal Lu would be) and also big ups to Lizard, who also read it even though they don't listen to TAZ at all and didn't understand any of this (and then publicly dragging me on tumblr for being the type of dude who writes abt his fictional crush smoking weed).  
> anyway i'm sorry + you're all welcome


End file.
